Dead Between the Lines (9 page)

“I want to.” I closed my eyes. The sensation of Jake’s hands stroking my hair washed over me like a waterfall. “I really do want to.”

“Let yourself go.” Jake leaned toward me, his breath, sweet from our dessert, fanning my face, and his voice low and gravelly. “Go ahead. Take a leap of faith.”

Without realizing I was going to ask, I heard myself say, “But if I jump, will you be around to catch me? Are you going to stay in Shadow Bend and manage your uncle’s ranch, or are you going back to St. Louis and the Marshals Service?” When he didn’t answer, I could see the indecision in his eyes. “Which is it?”

“I . . . I . . .” He stopped, then sighed and said, “The best I can do right now is maybe.”

“Maybe?” I pulled away from him. “You want me to take a chance on maybe?”

“There are no guarantees in life.” Frustration colored his voice. “I’m trying to figure some things out right now. Give me a break.”

“I will if you will.” Staring at him, I said, “I’d like to keep seeing you, but I’m going to keep going out with Noah, too.” I crossed my arms. “If we’re lucky, maybe we’ll both figure out what we want at the same time. Can you live with me dating you both?”

Jake let out a loud, audible breath. “Do I have a choice?”

“Yes.” I watched as he slid across the seat, fastened his seat belt, and started the engine. “You can walk away.”

“No.” Jake’s lips flattened into a hard white line. “That’s one thing I can’t do.”

CH
APTER 9

J
ake ground his teeth in frustration. In the few minutes that it took him to drive to his uncle’s ranch, adjacent to the Sinclair property, he thought about how badly his date with Devereaux had ended. How had the situation deteriorated so quickly?

The evening had started out well, even if she’d met him in the driveway. It had been hilarious to see her making excuses for why she didn’t want him to go inside her place. She was such a strange mix of tough businesswoman and vulnerable female. She never did what he expected her to do, and normally he hated being caught by surprise, but she always managed to charm him.

Jake ground his teeth again as he pulled his truck up to his uncle’s front door. Devereaux also always managed to light his fuse, then turn him away before he could complete the mission. Now, at a few minutes past midnight, Jake was raring to go, with no one to go with.

He stared at the dark house. Thank God Tony had gone to bed! The last thing Jake needed was his uncle asking about the stick of dynamite in his pants threatening to blast his fly wide open.

Sighing, Jake climbed out of the pickup’s cab and winced. The docs had told him that his leg was healed and that he was fit for duty as a marshal, but they had also warned him that he’d always have some pain. And after his latest stint undercover, his knee seemed to be bothering him more often. He probably shouldn’t have attempted that flying tackle when the cartel boss made a run for the Mexican border.

Ignoring the twinge, Jake went inside and headed to the liquor cabinet in the living room. He needed a drink if he had a hope in hell of falling asleep anytime soon. He poured himself two fingers of Bourbon and flopped down on the couch.

As he sipped the booze, his thoughts skittered to Devereaux’s announcement. Did she really expect him to sit back and accept her going out with Dr. Dweeb? Jake’s stomach churned. He’d never been good at sharing. When she’d declared that she would date them both, a wave of fury had nearly choked him, and it had been all he could do not to smash his fist through his truck’s windshield.

Jake toed off his Durangos, set his stocking feet on the coffee table, and balanced his whiskey glass on his stomach. After he’d swallowed his anger at the thought of Devereaux with another man, he’d felt something else, something he wasn’t used to feeling. He’d felt fear. What if he lost her? What if she was the one for him, but she decided that he wasn’t the one for her? Could he live with that? He wasn’t brave enough to answer that question.

But was it fair to expect her to give up someone who would always be there for her? At best, Jake would be in Shadow Bend one week a month, and if he was on a difficult case, it could be a lot less often than that. Underwood offered her dependability and status in the community, things she’d had ripped away from her when her father had gone to prison and her mother had dumped her on Birdie. Maybe he should bow out.

Hell, no!
Jake abruptly sat up, barely catching the glass before it went flying. There was no guarantee that Frat Boy would stand up to his mother. He’d betrayed Devereaux once, and if push came to shove, he might do it again.

Jake paced the length of the living room. No woman before Devereaux had ever tempted him to quit the Marshals Service and settle down, but he’d been thinking about it a lot lately. In many ways, it would be the ideal solution to his problems. He’d be able to take over the ranch for his uncle, who needed him. Although ranching wouldn’t be as easy on his leg as some desk job, he wouldn’t have to worry that it would give out in a crucial moment, when it could endanger his or other’s lives. It was also a lot less likely that while working on the ranch he’d become so severely reinjured that he couldn’t walk.
And
he could concentrate on winning Devereaux.

She’d haunted him this past month. She was always in the back of his mind. Just before going to sleep at night, he’d fantasize that she was beside him. It had been sheer torture pretending that his ex-wife was his girlfriend. Every time he’d had to touch her or kiss her, he’d compared her to Devereaux and asked himself why he’d ever married Meg. How had he thought he loved her?

After chugging the last of his Bourbon, he walked into the kitchen and put the empty glass in the sink, then pulled out a chair and sat at the table. Something else was bothering him. The murder. The idea of Devereaux being alone with a killer ate at his gut.

What if the murderer wasn’t just some run-of-the-mill violent asshole with a grudge? What if he was a totally deranged nut job who didn’t care who he offed? Devereaux could have been the victim instead of that poet.

Jake had a week before he had to report back to work, and since he was in the area, maybe he should take a gander at the case. After all, the local cops didn’t handle many homicides, especially ones where the vic ended up with a stake through his heart.

As Jake headed to bed, he smiled. Nothing like a juicy case to take his mind off his troubles.

C
HAPTER 10

W
ith Gran on her casino trip with Frieda and my store off-limits due to the police search, I seized the rare opportunity to sleep late. It was quarter to ten when I got out of bed Sunday morning, and the cats were waiting at my bedroom door when I emerged from my room. Both meowed loudly at me as I passed them, and Banshee lashed out at my bare ankles. I did a quick hop to avoid his claws and landed on a hard plastic mouse that one of the foxy felines had deposited strategically in my path. I swear the Siamese sniggered when I yelped in pain.

Clearly, the cats were ticked off by their delayed breakfast, so it was a good thing I had moved Tsar’s litter box from my bathroom to the utility room the night before. Otherwise, I was fairly certain he would have displayed his displeasure at not being able to get to his potty in an unacceptable manner. No doubt by depositing a little gift for me in the Jimmy Choos that I’d kicked off and left in the hallway.

Once the cats’ needs were taken care of, I put on the coffee and went to take a shower. Noah was picking me up in an hour and I needed to hustle if I was going to be ready in time. While I got dressed, I sipped a cup of liquid renewal and considered what Nadine had said. No, not that Noah had taken someone else out the night before—well, I spared only a fleeting thought about that—but what she had revealed about Lance Quistgaard.

Did Chief Kincaid know that Quistgaard had written “The Bend’s Buzz”? Now that I was aware of that fact, his behavior at the book-club meeting made a lot more sense, especially since the newspaper’s editor had turned out to be the man that had forced the poet to stop arguing and leave. Had Edwyn been afraid Lance would reveal himself as the gossip columnist if he continued to express his acerbic opinions about Shadow Bend?

Was it the editor’s idea to keep the identity of the gossip columnist a secret? Or had it been Quistgaard’s choice? Either way, in the face of his employer’s displeasure, Quistgaard must have decided that he’d better back down, or risk being fired.

Now that I knew that Lance was the voice of the “Buzz,” what he’d said that night about small towns and hypocrisy added up. And with his writing for the
Banner
being credited to Anonymous, his comment about his published poetry finally giving him something that he was proud to put his name on fit, too.

Time had slipped away while I pieced together the traces of Lance’s secret life; and when I checked the clock, I had exactly five minutes to put on my clothes or I would have to answer the door in my robe. Noah would arrive exactly on time, so I couldn’t count on any wiggle room, and I didn’t want to give him the wrong impression by greeting him less than fully dressed and ready to hit the road.

Noah had mentioned that he wanted to try a restaurant in Kansas City called bluestem, and I’d Binged it to figure out what to wear. I noticed from its Web site that the name began with a lowercase b, which led me to expect an avant-garde atmosphere. Based on that and the prices on its Web site, I’d chosen a short black-and-white dress that I paired with black tights and Kate Spade patent-leather ballet flats.

I had sold all my good jewelry, but I still had some nice costume pieces. Rummaging around in my drawer, I located a long snowflake-obsidian necklace and dangling ebony earrings that were perfect for the modern yet elegant look I was going for.

As expected, Noah arrived precisely at eleven, and because I knew I could trust him not to try to charm his way inside, I didn’t feel the need to meet him at the curb. When I opened the door, my pulse did a little Macarena of excitement. He was so handsome—and everything you’d expect of a wealthy, socially prominent young doctor.

His gray eyes twinkled as he greeted me. “Dev, you look amazing.”

“Thank you.” I twinkled back. “So do you. I love your jacket.”

He wore a dark gray Dolce & Gabbana cotton blazer, a Pembury plaid shirt, and black twill pants. At six-foot-two, with his lean build and classic features, he might have stepped straight out of the pages of
GQ
.

“Thanks, but I can’t take the credit.” Noah shrugged. “My Nordstrom guy delivered it yesterday. He sends me new stuff every season. I keep what I like and ship the rest back. I don’t have time to shop, so that works best.”

“I used to have a personal stylist at Nordstrom,” I said with a nostalgic sigh. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to have money to burn. Wait. Now that I thought about it, I really didn’t miss that lifestyle. At least not as much as I’d expected to.

“It is convenient.” Noah shoved his hands in his pockets. “Especially if you work sixty hours a week.”

“True, but keeping current with fashion isn’t quite as vital to me now that I wear a sweatshirt to work every day.” I glanced at my watch. “We should probably get going if our reservation is for twelve thirty.” Even without commuter traffic, it took a good hour to get into the city from Shadow Bend. And that didn’t include finding a parking place, which was often a pain in the city.

Like Jake’s F250, Noah’s Jaguar reflected his personality. The taiga green Jag was sleek and powerful, and as he assisted me in, I couldn’t help but let a contented groan slip out. The ivory leather seat was like a warm embrace, and the scent of Amouage Dia Pour Homme, Noah’s aftershave, filling the car’s interior completed that feeling. I was surprised at how comfortable I felt with Noah. After the initial awkwardness a few weeks ago when we’d first started seeing each other again, we’d picked up where we’d left off so long ago. It was almost as if it had been thirteen days rather than years since we’d been together.

Noah concentrated on driving. It was sort of funny that the roads in Shadow Bend were busier than the freeway. What with people on their way to and from church, folks going to the grocery store to pick up the Sunday paper, and others stopping at the diner for a late breakfast or early lunch, our little town was hopping.

When Noah finally merged onto the nearly empty highway that would take us into the city, he put the Jag on cruise control and asked, “Any news about that murder? Have the police found any evidence?”

“Well . . .” I hesitated. Noah had heard on the radio about the body behind my store and called me at work Saturday morning to see if I was all right. I’d assured him that I was fine, but I hadn’t mentioned my suspicion regarding the fence post or that I’d decided not to inform the chief about it until later that afternoon. Now I had to fill him in without admitting my omission. “After I talked to you yesterday, I noticed something that might be connected to the murder weapon, so now the cops are processing the inside of the dime store.”

“What did you notice?” Noah put on his turn signal, accelerated, and passed a slow-moving Buick.

I explained about the stake, ending with, “I don’t think the chief is releasing exactly how the guy was killed. At least I haven’t heard it on the news, so please don’t share that tidbit with anyone.”

“I won’t,” Noah promised. He changed lanes to allow a semi to merge, then asked, “Do you want me to meet you at the shop tomorrow morning and help clean up? If those crime shows on television are any indication, the police will leave the place a mess.”

“That would be terrific.” I was touched that Noah would offer his help, and noted that Jake hadn’t done the same. “Don’t you have to work?”

“I’m not scheduled at the clinic until the afternoon.” Noah grinned. “I finally found a doctor who’s willing to take some hours. I’m hoping she’ll like it here and will consider coming on board full-time.”

Noah had attended the combined BA and MD program at the University of Missouri’s School of Medicine, which had allowed him to graduate in six years. Afterward, he’d done a three-year residency in family medicine, then returned to Shadow Bend and opened the Underwood Clinic. It was the only medical facility in a forty-mile radius and perpetually crowded, but until now, due to the long hours and low pay, he’d been unable to lure another physician into joining his practice.

“That’s terrific. I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you,” I said. Wanting to forget that the police were ransacking my business as we spoke, I decided to change the subject and asked, “So, how was the concert last night?”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I tried to suck them back in. When I couldn’t, I gave myself a mental slap upside the head. How could I be such an idiot? I didn’t want to discuss my own Saturday night until later, which meant that bringing up Noah’s evening was just plain stupid.

Damn!
Now I’d have to admit to seeing his mother, a little factoid I had intended to neglect to mention. Not that I didn’t think he’d find out about our little tête-à-tête; I just didn’t want to be the one to tell him.

“Uh.” He glanced at me with a puzzled frown. “Okay. How did you know I went to a concert? I don’t remember our discussing it.”

“Your mother.” For a split second, I’d considered claiming that Noah had told me. But I only lied if I was pretty damn sure I could get away with a fib, and Nadine would probably relay our parking-lot encounter to him in exquisite detail. “I ran into her at the Golden Dragon last night. She seemed surprised to see me there, rather than with you at the symphony.”

“Ah.” Noah’s lips twisted into a cynical smile. “Mom knew I was escorting my cousin. In fact, my mother was the one who volunteered my services as a chauffeur when Patti’s husband was called out of town on business at the last minute. My cousin doesn’t like to drive in the city, and originally offered my mother the tickets.”

I made a face. “What a surprise, Nadine trying to stir up trouble.”

“I bet she was thrilled to see you with Del Vecchio.” Noah grimaced.

“She called him a pretty boy.” I snickered. “But I wouldn’t actually say she was pleased. She can be fairly hard to figure out.”

“Tell me about it.” Noah’s gaze met mine, and we both chuckled.

Before Noah could pursue the topic of Jake, I steered the conversation back to the concert he’d attended, and we talked about music the rest of the way to the restaurant. The Underwoods were big supporters of the Kansas City Symphony, and although Noah was knowledgeable about classical music, it wasn’t his favorite type of music, so our discussion drifted to performers we both admired.

The entrance to bluestem looked a little like the one to my dime store. Although theirs was covered by a navy canopy and my awning was green, both front doors were flanked by two large windows. An interior wall of red brick and a ceiling of exposed heating ducts made for unadorned elegance, or at least that’s what their Web site claimed. We were seated at a table for two in a quiet corner, handed the menus, and told our server would be with us shortly.

As I studied the selections, I decided to keep the conversation light while we ate, then debate the whole relationship mess on the way home while Noah was distracted by driving. With any luck, we’d finish our talk just as we arrived at my house. Birdie would be back from her trip by then, so there would be no possibility of inviting Noah inside.

When our server approached, Noah asked me, “Do you still like champagne?”

My pulse jumped at his roguish little grin, and I nodded, remembering the first time I’d tasted it. Noah had stolen a bottle of his mother’s Cristal and we’d gotten tipsy drinking it out of red plastic cups. Neither one of us had had any idea that we’d guzzled two hundred bucks’ worth of bubbly until Nadine found out and impressed upon us just how much each swig had cost.

After sending the waitress off to get a bottle of Piper-Heidsieck, Noah took my hands and said, “I hope this isn’t a farewell meal.”

“Of course not.” I really didn’t want to discuss that topic yet.

“Good.” Noah’s brow instantly smoothed and he squeezed my fingers.

I was trying to think of a way to postpone the relationship conversation when I heard someone say, “Well, isn’t this a small world.”

“Hi, Vaughn.” Noah and I greeted the owner of the voice simultaneously.

Vaughn Yager strolled over, grabbed a chair from an adjacent table, and, without being invited, joined us. He had been a classmate of ours, but he was an entirely different person today. Because he’d been an unattractive, studious boy from a less than prestigious family, he’d been bullied. But as nerds often do, he’d grown up to become a successful man and an eligible bachelor.

After using his considerable mathematical skills and his genius for tactics and strategy to make a fortune playing professional poker in Las Vegas and Atlantic City, he’d bulked up, had his nose straightened, and gotten a chin implant. His appearance transformed, he’d come back to town, bought a factory that was approaching bankruptcy, and turned it into a thriving operation. Now the teenagers who had snubbed him in high school were the adults who pursued him for his connections, money, and status.

I beamed at the brash man who had replaced the shy adolescent and said, “Someone must have forgotten to blockade the Shadow Bend exit.” He and I had both been teased and ostracized by our classmates, which was a bond that could never be entirely forgotten.

“I think all the cops are busy at your store.” Vaughn’s recently straightened and whitened teeth gleamed against his tanned skin. “I passed it on my way here and it was swarming with our gallant men and women in blue. Did they find another body?”

“No.” This was beginning to feel like a repeat of last night, with Vaughn taking Winnie’s role as nosy friend. At least I didn’t have to explain it all to Noah, as I had with Jake. “They’re just being thorough, since the store’s back door was found open.” I pasted on a “dumb me” expression and lied, “I’m pretty sure I must have forgotten to lock it, but you know Chief Kincaid. He likes to dot all his
i
’s and cross his
t
’s.”

“That’s the chief, all right,” Vaughn agreed.

I noticed that my old classmate’s smile turned on and off like a broken neon sign, and wondered what he was really thinking. He’d been a brainiac in school, and it occurred to me that he might no longer be the honest, straightforward person that he once was. It made me question whether transforming himself into a charming man about town had cost him a piece of his soul.